


Each Angel Burns

by thebowtie



Series: hooptedoodle's advent calendar [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Crowely's hissssing, Crowley is a philosopher, Day 1: Slow Burn, M/M, Slow Burn, god is a little shit, probably too many bible allusions, somehow this was plot first and then became porn??, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebowtie/pseuds/thebowtie
Summary: Day 1: Slow Burn“War is hardly the only option when faced with conflict,” Aziraphale said.Crawly hummed. “It’s the option the divine forcess chosse. Why would humanss be different?”“Humans are different. They have a choice. That’s the whole point.”“Ah. Didn’t we have a choicse as well?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: hooptedoodle's advent calendar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034034
Kudos: 18





	Each Angel Burns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hooptedoodle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooptedoodle/gifts).



> This is day 1 of a 24 days advent calendar series for my dear, dear hopptedoodle featuring all (or at least most) of her favourite idiots as a big Thank You for doing me a big favour. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, my dear <3 
> 
> Further notes:  
> Non of this is beta-read, I'm sorry.  
> This is very likely to be the longest contribution because I had it lying around and it is the best I can do for slow burn.

_Who, if I cried, would hear me, of the angelic  
_ _orders? or even supposing that one should suddenly  
_ _carry me to his heart – I should perish under the pressure  
_ _of his stronger nature. For beauty is only a step  
_ _removed from a burning terror we barely sustain,  
_ _and we worship it for the graceful sublimity  
_ _with which it disdains to consume us. Each angel burns._

Rainer Maria Rilke, _Duino Elegies_ “The First Elegy”  
translated by John Waterfield

When Adam and Eve had first been created – minutes before the First Great War[*] – Crowley, who hadn’t been Crowley and not even Crawly back then, had thought the two of them to be vaguely angel-shaped. He had thought similarly before about the birds. This time around, the resemblance was much more remarkable. Still, he failed to see what the hype was about.

One day later, on the seventh day, God had rested, and, in the truest sense of the expression, all Hell had broken loose. In the wake of it, Crowley, who had then become Crawly, had found himself to be fallen.

The rest, they say, is history.

***

“I haven’t seen any animal like that before.”

Crawly tilted his head. They watched as Eve threatened the wormish beast with Aziraphale’s sword. She called it a snake. 

“Snake?” Aziraphale repeated, little convinced.

“It’ss ass good a name ass any,” Crawly retorted. He felt oddly proud.

Aziraphale gave him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t quite see the point of them,” he said, somewhat sourly, “Crawling in the dust and everything. Didn’t they use to have legs for that?”

Crawly shrugged – or at least thought of shrugging.

“Now they are shaped like worms.”

“I think they are shaped like me,” Crowley offered humbly.

Aziraphale looked him over for a moment, head to tail. “Well, I guess they are,” he admitted with a wonderous frown, “I still think – they used to have legs.”

Crawly let his tongue dart out of his closed snoot playfully.

“I think it ssuits them.”

***

It was a funny thing indeed how, as soon as God started creating, creation continued to create all by itself. And in the course of it, usually, it was easy to lose sight of what was created and how and why and by whom. Demons, for instance, weren’t God’s creation originally. Originally, God had created angels[†]. Angels usually deemed themselves impeccable. Yet, some of them over the course of their existence had come to be demons – which means _flawed_ by definition. There is a paradox in there that is easily enough broken down to a few lines. That is, if one dared to think such things.

If God is good and almighty, Her creation must be good also.

Creation, however, is flawed.

Since creation is flawed, one of the following must be true: either God is not, in fact, good. Or God is good, but not almighty. Or else She is neither.

This primarily works, of course, on the premises that freedom of choice is considered a flaw. 

***

Crawly approached Eve as she was tending to the grave. She looked up as he stood next to her. It had only been some hundred years since Eden.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yess,” he admitted.

“Not a snake anymore then.”

He shrugged. “Dependss.”

She looked at him searchingly. Her black curls were laced with streaks of grey.

He felt her gaze wander over the scales at his arms and legs while her hands were working on filling a small hole, piling up fresh earth on top of it.

“What did you plant there?”

She smiled at him, with a sad but knowing look and mischief in her clever eyes.

Crawly couldn’t help but admire her. These, he thought, are very much unlike the eyes of any angel or demon. He had heard them call her the _mother of all living things_. Crawly himself had never been a mother. Neither had he had one.

“An apple tree,” she said, “That’s what I planted.”

***

Aziraphale, Crowley came to think, was an angel who was vaguely human shaped. Not merely in appearance but also in the general way he existed – if something like existence could be generalised[‡]. He had thought so before when humans hadn’t been created yet. Back then, of course, it had been harder to put it into words. Especially seeing that many words hadn’t been invented then either.

***

“Shed your skin, did you?”

“And a good evening to you, too, angel,” Crawly retorted. To his amusement, the angel blushed.

“I’m sorry, that was awfully rude of me.”

Aziraphale stepped up next to him at the edge of the platform. Underneath them, the land spread wide, gleaming golden in the light of the setting sun. In the distance, flocks of men could be seen, moving away from where the two of them were standing into all possible directions. Black points towards the horizon.

“A shame, don’t you think?” Crawly asked, watching them disappear.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured vaguely to their feet. The tower they stood on, the tools that lay strewn over the platform as if just left there for a moment of break. “Would have liked to ssee how far they can make it.”

“ _This_ is how far they could make it.” Aziraphale looked positively righteous.

The demon huffed. “Camelshit.”

“They were affronting the Almighty by trying to reach Her,” Aziraphale said, dignified.

“They couldn’t have, though, could they? No one reachess the Almighty.”

Aziraphale frowned, looking up as if he hoped to see Her sitting on a nearby cloud. The sky was clear.

“I’m just ssaying,” Crawly pressed on, using his advantage, “They were working together for once. Who caress if the goal wass ssomewhat blassphemous?”

“You would say that. You’re a demon.”

“Mixing up their language to prevent them from getting along iss what ssoundss demonic to me.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, frown deepening. Then closed it. Then opened it again. Crawly grinned.

“There is nothing demonic about diversity!”

He laughed with a quiet hissing sound.

“Remember when there wass diverssity in the firsst place?”

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically.

“Diversity caussed the First Great War, angel,” Crawly explained, “Diversity will causse many otherss.”

The silence stretched between them as the first stars appeared in the darkened sky. Even Crawly’s superior sight couldn’t make out the human figures any longer.

“War is hardly the only option when faced with conflict,” Aziraphale said eventually.

Crawly hummed. “It’s the option the divine forcess chosse. Why would humanss be different?”

“Humans _are_ different. They have a choice. That’s the whole point.”

“Ah. Didn’t we have a choicse ass well?”

“Of course not!” The angle shifted uncomfortably. “Did you?”

“I don’t know.”

Aziraphale looked at him then, sadly.

Crawly was reminded, distantly, of Eve.

“I’m sorry.”

“And what for?” Crawly turned to face him. His eyes were glowing in the twilight.

Aziraphale stood his ground, expression unchanging.

Crawly couldn’t stand it. A sudden, wild desire burned in him. He wished the other would be angry instead, maybe scream at him. He wished Aziraphale would smite him.

“I’m sorry,” the angel repeated instead, “That you weren’t happy.”

Crawly’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the other, head slightly laid to the side.

“I wass happy,” he said quietly.

“Then why did you…?”

“I didn’t.”

They were quiet again. Aziraphale looked like he wanted to argue or do something much more outrageous. But Crowley felt tired, just as sudden and intensely as he had felt fierce.

“Leave it be, angel,” he hissed as he turned to leave.

When Aziraphale called after him, in the one language no human would ever speak, Crawly paused, turning ever so slightly. He was trembling. His fiery red hair was dancing with the wind. It looked, for a moment, as if he was still burning.

“Do not call me that.”

***

Demons – well, demons were an interesting case. Crowley couldn’t make up his mind about them for quite a few centuries. Demons, of course, couldn’t be angel shaped. Yet, they very nearly were. Even more so, Crowley found, secretly, that demons were shaped like creation itself. As if creation had been burned into their very existence, leaving them branded. Either that or the other way around. Crowley wasn’t sure whether it made a difference. 

***

“Crawly!” Aziraphale accused. Crawly turned minutely from where he was staring at Sinai. The mountain top was obscuring itself with clouds.

“Angel.”

“This is your doing then!” Aziraphale gestured wildly to where the people were, quite merrily, worshipping the golden image of calf.

“You would think so.”

“I knew it!”

Crawly averted his gaze from the invisible mountain top to look at the angel. He smiled sweetly. “What are you going to do about it?”

For two moments, Aziraphale hesitated. “Well, they’ll have to be punished.” He tried to sound fierce. “I have orders…”

“Lots of blood, I imagine,” Crawly prompted as the other trailed off.

“It’s their own fault!”

“Sure. Let them slaughter each other in order for them to become worthy of _God’s commandments_. What was the sixth again? Or was it the fifth? I can’t quite recall. Sort of difficult to count the lot.”

Aziraphale looked short of reciting but then closed his mouth, eyes narrowed.

“I won’t stay to watch.”

“I’m not surprised,” Aziraphale said coolly, “It is like you to cause trouble and then leave for the serious part.”

Crawly raised his brows. “Your system of finding fault seems faulty to me.”

“Of course, it would.” Aziraphale set his jaw, determinedly not looking at him.

Crawly supposed that he was holding back on either a sentence with _ineffable_ or the word _demon._ Personally, he thought that it was interesting that those seemed to be the two things Aziraphale always fell back on.

“You know, I didn’t mean to fall,” Crawly continued, more quietly, “I’m sorry I left you troubled.”

“That’s not what I-“

“Of course not. See you around, angel.”

***

Centuries marched past and so did kings and, on memorable occasions, queens.

***

“I wondered whether you’d show up.”

“You wondered?”

The man shrugged. “It’s to be expected.”

“I suppose,” Crawly allowed, looking the other up and down. He had always been curious. “You look ordinary enough.”

“What did you expect?”

“Ngh.” Crawly shrugged non-committal. “The unusual. Bit more sparkle. Some gold.” Something more angelic. “A burning sword or something.”

The other laughed. “That’s what your friend said, too.”

Crawly grinned despite himself. Aziraphale would be flustered beyond anything if he knew of this accusation. From _him_ of all people. “Did he now?”

“In the essence. Do you think I’m doing it wrong?”

The question took Crawly by surprise. His opinion on such things hadn’t been asked for since Eden. He inhaled; brows raised. “Noo. I mean.” He grimaced. “’t’s not like there’s a manual or anything, really. Way you do it would be the right way. Supposedly. I mean. What with you being the only one and all.”

The man nodded, thoughtfully.

“One would expect you to, you know, _know_ what to do.”

“I’m getting used to not meeting expectations.”

Crawly hummed. “Been there,” he muttered.

They held each other’s gaze. There was a feeling of distant familiarity. Crawly was reminded of something, but he couldn’t quite recall what exactly. Something huge and very, very important, he felt. The things he barely remembered always seemed to be. Averting his gaze, he decided, quite unrelated, that he wasn’t Crawly anymore.

“I won’t turn from Her, you know.”

Crowley paused, raising an eyebrow. “So, you _do_ know Her then,” he observed.

The Son smiled. “How do you mean?”

“You keep telling them of your father,” Crowley prompted.

“They wouldn’t likely understand otherwise. My earthly mother has enough on her without people worshipping her as an assumed Goddess.”

Crowley grimaced empathetically. “In my experience, they aren’t picky in this regard,” he agreed.

The Christ sighed. “I fear they aren’t. But I hope for them.”

“You really do, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” Crowley tilted his head. “Tell them I tried then? I mean – hardly any point in formalities when you already made up your mind.”

“Fair enough.”

They stood in silence.

“How would you like to see the kingdoms of the world?”

***

The son of God was, in Crowley’s opinion, surprisingly human. Not human shaped or anything. Just human. He found that not even humans were that human. And wasn’t that odd? 

He died like one of the lowest of them, too. 

It made Crowley wonder. To no end.

***

“I don’t think that’s quite howithooow it…not how it happened.”

“’m starting to suspect that’ss exactly…you know-“ Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley groaned. “The jjj-ah-joke!”

Aziraphale frowned, then chuckled, then stopped, then frowned again, shaking his head scandalized.

Crowley loved when he managed to make him do that.

“I loove when…you,” he formulated, frowning at air as he tried to figure out what they had been talking about.

Aziraphale made a sound that had Crowley looking up at him. The angel’s face showed a difficult palate of emotions. Also, it was slightly the wrong way around as Aziraphale was hanging in his armchair, bending his head so he could look at Crowley.

“W-what isss it, angel?” Crowley slurred and, well-meaningly, spilled some wine in the other’s direction.

Aziraphale made the same sound again, but this time it emerged into slightly hysteric laughter. Crowley smiled indulgently.

“Y-y-your-” Aziraphale spluttered between laughing fits, “Youyouyou--” Another fit. “Annnd--I” Crowley considered getting up to help the other into an upright position. Aziraphale got an hic up that brought his giggling slowly to an end. They sat for a while in the now quiet room, only interrupted by Aziraphale’s hics.

“Demon,” the other finally said, “that’s what you are.”

It sounded strangely sober.

“True,” Crowley mumbled. Then he pretended to pass out.

***

Sometimes, Crowley considered if maybe happiness and goodness were, in fact, unintended by-products of creation. Aziraphale didn’t speak to him for the next two decades after he mentioned it.

***

They didn’t speak at all, sitting in a bus that was mysteriously heading towards London.

There was a stupor on the world which had been very much prepared to be destroyed. There was a stupor on them even though they had stubbornly believed that they were going to make it until the very end – the very end that hadn’t come[§].

They didn’t speak, but they held hands, their fingers intertwined. Not for the first time, mind you. But for the first time in this new world with new possibilities and new sides. It made a huge difference.

***

Language was a marvel. Crowley had noticed this before, as had every angel and former angel. The power of words. Words had brought about existence. Words had shaped creation. Words and whispers had brought about thoughts that had brought about The Fall. Words were the essence of the living world.

If you look up the word _ineffable_ in any dictionary, you may find something along the lines of ‘too great or beautiful to describe in words.’

Crowley, who had never owned a dictionary, had always resented _ineffable_ for its limits.

After the events foreseen by Agnes Nutter, witch, he understood that _ineffable_ was not so much about the limit and more about the possibilities. He was reluctant to admit that this was more agreeable for him. But then, he figured, there would be plenty of time to make up his mind about it now.

***

In his enthusiasm Crowley lost balance and dropped to his knees. He didn’t expect it to hurt, so it didn’t. The embarrassment of the moment, however, was very insisting in making itself known.

“Now, now,” Aziraphale chuckled above him as he stepped closer, drawing his attention with the way his chuckle sounded breathier than it should, “I must admit – when I imagined you on your knees for me it was for rather different reasons.”

Crowley’s head snapped up. “What?” he asked sharply over one very audible hiss.

Impossibly, Aziraphale’s hand found its way into Crowley’s hair, caressing his sculp just insisting enough to be…possessive. 

“Oh, you heard me.” The angel’s tone was oddly free of insecurity. Not a trace of embarrassment, or the flustered facade he liked to give himself. Just him. Just Aziraphale speaking in almost inhuman serenity while looking down at Crowley as if he was actually _hungry_ for once.

Crowley felt hyperaware of everything. The other’s gaze resting on him, the fingers in his hair, the crotch just inches away from his face. He could feel the heat of it on his skin. He didn’t dare look. Staring unblinkingly up at Aziraphale instead.

“Aziraphale,” he croaked, throat dry from the sheer amount of tension that had come up so very sudden and most unexpectedly. The hand in his hair tightened, compelling another hiss from his lips.

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale murmured, wetting his lips with his tongue, “If you knew just how much I hated to see this want in your face and never be able to do anything about it.”

He could feel himself blush and blush even more for blushing.

“It was too dangerous before. I couldn’t have had them hurt you.”

Crowley felt dizzy. The combination of possessiveness and love and lust in the angel’s voice while he was still looking down at him like this was making his head spin. Crowley half wished to be drunk again.

“However,” Aziraphale continued apparently undisturbed by the effect he was having while he continued to stroke the other’s head as if they had never done anything else for the last 6000 years, “things are rather different now, don’t you think, dear boy?”

Instead of an answer, Crowley only made an almost pained guttural noise. Aziraphale waited patiently, a slight _smirk_ tugging at the corner of his mouth. Bastard.

“I wasn’t sure you even could…” Crowley started and now his gaze did shift where he wanted to look, to what was waiting right in front of him. The outline of what could only be Aziraphale’s cock, already hard, was plainly visible through the thin fabric of his trousers. “Ohh…” Crowley breathed rather sophisticatedly. And, oh, now he could taste it as well. Azriaphale’s arousal on his tongue.

Aziraphale chuckled, with a low quality to it that Crowley had only witnessed twice before. It made a shiver run down his spine, scales appearing from underneath his skin.

“I think, it appears that I can,” Aziraphale said with unconcealed delight and a slight bit of unfashionable pride, “And I will. With you. If you’ll let me?” There was something teasing to the question that quite effectively renewed Crowley’s blush.

“Angel,” he hissed, looking up at the other from underneath his lashes. It shouldn’t be forgotten that, while Aziraphale seemed to be so much more of a natural in this lieu than any angel should have the right to, Crowley still was The Original Tempter. “I beg you to.”

Aziraphale’s second hand came up to cradle Crowley’s face as he leaned towards him until their foreheads were resting against each other. “Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, voice low and promising, “I had so hoped that you would say that, my dear.”

And then, quite expectedly, he kissed Crowley.

“You have done this before, haven’t you, dear? You had sex with humans,” Aziraphale asked conversationally and apart from the roughness of his voice nothing betrayed the fact that he was working Crowley open with three fingers now while Crowley squirmed underneath him.

“Ngh,” Crowley moaned, trying to hold on to the sheets, though they had already proven to be much too lose and not _enough_ – not enough to keep him from wriggling and moving and trying to fuck himself on Aziraphale’s fingers while the angel watched him from above, still fully clothed, except for his open trousers. It had never been a secret between them – that Crowley was sexual and put his sexuality to use. It was one of the points they had had debates over, in fact, because Crowley had never been quite convinced that making someone feel that good and connected with their body could be a bad thing. Ironically, Crowley now found himself mildly worried that his body might not stay connected to him after all. Aziraphale seemed to have no such fears.

“Tell me, dear – I’ve always wondered – have you ever thought of me when you lay with them? When you kissed them, when you let them fuck you?”

Crowley gasped for air he wasn’t technically in need of, except that his human-shaped body seemed to very much have an own mind at the moment concerning what it needed and didn’t need. He had never dared to entertain that idea – that Aziraphale thought about him sexually. That he was at all interested in his conquests.

“Aziraphale, pleasse,” he hissed as Aziraphale slowed down his thrusts – whether in consideration of his body’s affinity to breathing or just to torture him, Crowley was not sure –, “I – ah – want you inside me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were dark when Crowley managed to meet them, looking down at him with all the love and want and lust that he had always wanted to see in them. And impossibly more.

“Tell me, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning down to him, lips hovering inches over Crowley’s mouth. His fingers got even slower, making Crowley surer of their intension. He burned with the knowledge of it. “Did you imagine it to be me? Did you wish for them to be me?”

“Yess!” he hissed helplessly – and why wouldn’t he admit it? After all, the angel _knew_ this already, had to know – Crowley’s voice bore the same desperation a scream would have, if not more. His face burned. “Always. Ngh. Always you. Ugh. Azira-!”

Aziraphale had withdrawn his fingers completely, leaving Crowley’s hole to spasm sadly around mere air. He sobbed into the kiss as Aziraphale’s damp fingers ghosted over his hard cock, making him twitch and leak without ever really touching. The kiss was wet and just as desperate as Crowley felt, overwhelming him with the knowledge that his want was not only watched by Aziraphale but shared and reflected back upon him.

“Let me _know_ you, my love,” Aziraphale whispered against his lips and it took everything for Crowley to not come on the spot.

“Fuuck.”

Aziraphale chuckled again, though more breathless now than ever before. Suddenly, he was naked, too, and on top of Crowley. His soft belly pressed against Crowley’s strained cock and, _fuck_ (Crowley’s brain supplied helpfully), wetted by the pre-come which made them slide against each other ever so slightly.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Azriaphale panted, and his voice, for all the effort he certainly put into it, didn’t at all sound conversationally anymore.

“Ssixthoussand fucking yearss iss long enough, don’t you think?” Crowley hissed uncontrollably, “Sso for-- fuckss ssake, would you jusst go on with it alrea-Ahhsss-Ngh-“

Crowley’s eyes fell shut, and his mouth opened inhumanly wide as Aziraphale slid into him with one smooth motion. The angel moaned _obscenely_ (Crowley’s mind still managed to supply before it melted) and thrust forward again, seemingly unable to control the urge.

“Oh, Crowley, you feel so wonderful,” he breathed as his hips drew back and snapped forth again a third time and then a fourth and then in increasingly quick succession, again, and again and again. “So good and beautiful and open for me,” he kept mumbling, mouth close to Crowley’s ear. Crowley whimpered. He couldn’t stop the stream of needy sounds dripping from his throat and lips, just as Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from pounding into him.

“So _perfect_ ,” Aziraphale panted, thrusting ever faster, “Made for me.”

Crowley was on the verge of losing himself. He couldn’t care less.

“Come for me, Crowley, will you? I want to fuck you through it. I want to watch you come undone for me. _Because_ of me. Ahhfuuck-”

It was the opposite to falling. He could feel Azirapahle – more than just physically. Moving inside him. Everywhere. And everywhere was them, their side. Crowley had seen the white of Heaven just hours ago. This was brighter. This was the blinding whiteness of Her presence. Painfully familiar even after all this time. This was to truly know each other. He was neither falling nor rising but being acknowledged in his whole existence. He was loved. This was _love_.

Crowley was distantly aware that he was sobbing, of kisses pressed to his face, right through his mortal skin and onto his eternal soul.

When his eyes blinked open, through a veil of tears he met Aziraphale’s eyes – all of them – watching him, _seeing_ him. He started breathing again. His cheeks were wet. He closed his eyes, suddenly mortified.

“Aziraphale-,” he found himself whisper with a frightfully human voice.

“Shh.” There was a thumb stroking his cheek, spreading his tears over his skin as if to anoint him. “I have you,” Aziraphale said and it sounded like _I have seen you and I know, now, that you have always been mine and always will be._

Crowley sobbed. He could feel Aziraphale move inside him. His eyes opened, his breath faltering. Aziraphale smiled softly down at him, thrusting again.

“Alright?” he asked.

Crowley nodded, paralysed. He wondered whether Aziraphale was still hard or again.

Aziraphale’s smile broadened. “Dear boy. How could I not come to completion seeing you like this?” Thrust. “How could I not be here again?”

Crowley hissed. It was probably impossible for him to blush anymore. Aziraphale, the bastard, chuckled delightedly. And then leaned down to kiss Crowley’s burning cheeks, his forehead, his lips. The kiss was incredibly gentle and went on for minutes with neither of them having to pull away for air. When they parted, Crowley found himself almost smiling. He knew Aziraphale was able to tell.

“When you’re up to it again,” Azirapahle said apropos of nothing, “I would love to have you ride me.”

Crowley laughed breathlessly. “If you don’t stop saying things like that, I might inconveniently discorporate, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed, too. “Oh my,” he said, finally somewhat flustered, “I think I have been holding back for so long without ever really realising. I’m sorry to jump on you like this, my dear.”

“’s fine,” Crowley slurred, feeling lazily drunk on the best wine of all. “’M yours.”

Aziraphale brightened beautifully.

“Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, “And I’ll have you. I’m so sorry for ever making you think I don’t want this. Not the sex,” he clarified hastily – Crowley raised an eyebrow –, “Well, that too, but not just the sex. I mean. Everything.”

“I love you, too, angel.” It was meant to sound teasing, nonchalant at best, but it sounded like what it always had been. _The_ truth.

Aziraphale stared at him seemingly breathless – just that it was something more fundamentally important to his existence that was missing.

“Oh, and I love you,” he said solemnly. There were tears running down his pinkened cheeks, Crowley noticed, the breath knocked out of him once again. He couldn’t for the life of him say, whether Aziraphale had been crying all the time or had started just now.

“More than anything,” Azirapahle added softly, then repeated, “I love you more than anything. My Crowley.”

***

Even for two supernatural entities showing and giving yourself completely to another entity was a bit much to take on top of saving the world, facing off against Heaven and Hell, discorporating most inconveniently (in Aziraphale’s case), and losing your best friend (in Crowley’s case) – all within 48 earth hours. When Crowley woke up, he was sure that at least a week had passed since he’d gone to sleep. To his mild surprise, he found Aziraphale still fast asleep, wrapped securely into the tight embrace of his own legs and arms. 

He buried his nose into the angel’s curls with a slight smile, leaving a kiss there before he slowly distangled them in order to lie next to the sleeping angel. Watching him thoughtfully. He had never seen Aziraphale sleep before. In fact, he was reasonably sure that the other had never slept before. It looked almost unnatural on him. Then again, Crowley supposed, it was just that. Angels were meant to be watchful. To see and to know. When he himself had still been an angel, sleep hadn’t been invented. He hadn’t been human shaped back then either. And humans hadn’t been vaguely angel shaped. Humans hadn’t _been_ at all.

***

On the fourth day of creation, God had said there should be lights on the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night.

On the fourth day, Crowley had made the heavens burn with stars.

“Why did we make stars?” Crowley asked.

“Because She said so,” Aziraphale retorted bemused.

“Yes, but why? What for?”

“To divide the day from the night. Oh, hush now. Don’t you think they are beautiful?”

“They are.”

“There you go. Maybe that’s all the reason She needs to create.”

Aziraphale had then looked upon the angel that Crowley had been with such purpose, that Crowley had flushed with it. Sometimes, when he dreamed, he could still see Aziraphale wear that expression. But he knew it was not for him anymore.

***

Crowley sighed. How the times changed, indeed. And the way it looked; they wouldn’t come to an end any time soon either.

[*] We know of course that, strictly seen, there hadn’t been a Second Great War that would allow for this one to legitimately be called The First. Still, there was such an unquestioned certainty about the eventual occurrence of The Second that even after the events foreseen by Agnes Nutter, witch, both Heaven and Hell stubbornly kept the title. In hope for worse days, if you will. 

[†] And even here, with what could be considered the core of creation, the how and why was already delightfully ineffable.

[‡] Naturally, existence can’t be generalised. Still, they keep trying. It’s one of the most amusing things – and, on a side note, the very opposite of blasphemy.

[§] They call it self-fulfilling prophecy. 


End file.
